


A Bean or a Leaf

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: barisi meet-cutes [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Also kinda-sorta College AU, Fluff, M/M, coffee shop AU, meet-cute au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: You can't buy happiness, but youcanbuy coffee, and in Sonny's book that's pretty damn close.Except, of course, when the barista can't make a drink worth a damn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the second in my meet-cute series! i got the image of sonny saying most of these lines stuck in my head, and just couldn't resist. i know the common headcanon is that barba is a coffee snob--and maybe he is, but that doesn't mean he knows how to make coffee. 
> 
> anywho, enjoy!

Sonny sits for a good, long while contemplating his next course of action. He could let it slide (again) and be on his merry way. Or, he could (finally) mention to the barista that his drink is wrong (again). Now, Sonny is a nice guy. Everyone has some shit going on in their life, he knows that. He doesn’t judge, he’s kind to servers and retail workers, and wouldn’t dare for a moment be ungrateful.

Except…

It’s hard to remember the manners his ma taught him when it’s the eighth day in a row it’s happened. He’s got a breaking point, just like any other living and breathing human being, and he’s about hit it. He sighs and stares at the drink, losing steam as it goes untouched. He’d ordered a macchiato, something just sweet enough to be an easy, early-morning pick-me-up. What he’d got is… not that. He’s not even sure what it is, but it’s not great (not terrible, either) and definitely not what he ordered.

He sighs and dogears the page in his textbook. His heart is hammering in his chest and he swears his ma’s voice is already ringing in his ears. He can’t let this go on, though. This is his favorite coffee shop—ideal because of the even distance from his apartment to Fordham—and he can’t bring himself to go anywhere else. Besides, it’s a recent problem; it only started when the owner hired that new barista, an older guy who apparently has no idea how to make a drink.

Sonny feels bad, but knows his mind is made up. He tucks his textbook away in his bag, takes the lukewarm drink in hand, and approaches the counter.

The barista looks up. “Can I help you?” He doesn’t quite sneer, but it’s close.

Everyone has shit in their personal life, Sonny reminds himself. You don’t know what someone is going through, he chants in his head.

The guy shifts from looking mildly annoyed to outright bored, and that’s when Sonny snaps.

“No offense, man, but you’re like the worst barista ever.”

_That_ certainly catches the guy’s attention. “Excuse me?”

Sonny is kind of surprised the response isn’t more offended, incredulous. Instead, the barista just sounds surprised, and faintly like he got the wind knocked out of him. A straight up insult will do that to a guy, Sonny figures.

“Sorry, man, so sorry but. Like.” Sonny gestures to the drink. “This isn’t what I ordered. I haven’t gotten what I ordered the past eight times I’ve been here, and ya know I’m a nice guy, but there’s only so much I can take.” Sonny can feel himself start to ramble, but the coffee shop is empty and the barista isn’t saying anything so Sonny keeps on going. “I know you’re new so I guess I gave ya the benefit of the doubt, but _c’mon_. I’m a law student, I _need_ coffee to survive, and shit it probably sounds so whiny and trivial but getting the wrong coffee in the morning? It—it fuckin’ sucks, man.”

Sonny’s chest is gently heaving by the end of his rant.

The barista blinks owlishly. “I’m… sorry?” He sounds unsure at first, and Sonny is caught between explosive anger and kinda-sorta thinking it’s adorable. “No, that came out wrong. I _am_ sorry.” The barista’s cheeks burn and his low, honey-thick voice is rapid and endearingly frazzled. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize.”

Sonny laughs. “Well yeah, didn’t think you were trying to do it on purpose.” Sonny sets the now entirely cold drink on the counter, then shrugs. “I get it man, shit happens, your head is someplace else, whatever.” He waves his hand around good-naturedly. “I don’t, y’know, I’m not gonna hold it against you. Just, I had to tell you. I love this place, and I’d rather be a dick for five seconds than have to find somewhere new.”

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

That’s—that’s a confession. Now it’s Sonny’s turn to blink in confusion.

The barista rakes a hand through his short hair, leaving it spiked up in random tufts. Again—adorable, though Sonny chides himself internally for thinking so.

“Alex only hired me because we’re old friends. This,” he gestures to the entirety of the counter, “is not my strong suit.”

Sonny nods along.

The barista seems on the verge of saying more, but catches himself. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I can try to remake it?”

Sonny shakes his head so quick he gets dizzy. He’s only thankful that it gets the guy to laugh, rather than make things worse.

“Fair enough.”

“I’m Sonny.” He says, suddenly.

The barista is clearly taken aback. “I’m Rafael.”

Sonny nods again. “I get the feelin’ there’s a story as to why you’re working at your old friend’s coffee shop despite knowing nothing about making drinks, and I’m wondering if you’d like to tell me the story over dinner. Tonight?”

Rafael’s surprised expression nearly seems exaggerated.

“You don’t gotta, or anything,” Sonny is quick to assure. “Just—you might be shit at coffee but you’re really cute.” In the end, he shrugs. What has he got to lose, right?

“Okay. Tonight.” Rafael agrees. He grabs a napkin and scrawls his name and number across it with a sharpie. “Text me, we can meet up.” Rafael’s gaze falls to the messenger bag slung over Sonny’s shoulder. “When are classes over?”

Sonny runs through today’s schedule in his head. “Probably around seven or so, is that alright?”

Rafael smiles. “It’s a date.”


End file.
